Five things that simply can't be done on Destiny's Bridge
by Shenandoah Risu
Summary: "Personal Journal, Eli Wallace: I'm on watch on the Bridge tonight, and I'm bored stiff." - With Eli and the Destiny Crew.


**Title: ****Five things that simply can't be done on Destiny's Bridge**  
**Author: Shenandoah Risu  
Rating:** PG-13  
**Content Flags:** frustration  
**Characters:** Eli Wallace  
**Word Count:** 1,023  
**Excerpt:** _Personal Journal, Eli Wallace: I'm on watch on the Bridge tonight, and I'm bored stiff._  
**Author's Notes:** Written for prompt set #156 at the LJ Comm sg1_five_things.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own SGU. I wouldn't know what to do with it. Now, Young... Young I'd know what to do with. ;-)  
**Thanks for reading! Feedback = Love. ;-)**

**oOo**

**Five things that simply can't be done on Destiny's Bridge**

_Personal Journal, Eli Wallace._

I'm on watch on the Bridge tonight, and I'm bored stiff. We're in FTL and Destiny's just humming along. I got three more hours before it's Morrison's turn to relieve me. Speaking of relief – the stupid Bridge toilet is clogged again. Note to self: Let Dunning know first thing in the morning. Because I've got to hold it now until Morrison shows up or some insomniac wanders by so I can dash to the crapper down near the Mess hall. It's probably going to be the Colonel. Normally I'd say Rush, but he's visiting with Dr Perry in The Matrix tonight…

So, here I am, with all this cool steampunk technology, and there's so much I could do but really shouldn't. Like, fire the main guns. Or open and close doors randomly. Or run simulations.

Which got me to thinking: since there's so much you can do on the Bridge, what are some of the things you simply can't do, no matter how hard you try?

Well, here goes.

_You can't make pie._

Yeah, obviously there's no oven. Duh. But I mean not even one of those no-skill no-bake pies, where you stir some pudding mix into water until it's thick enough to pour into a graham cracker pie crust. Not only would Rush have a shit fit about that, Brody would smack me upside the head because he knows that one single pie crumb carelessly dropped into a crack between two control panel sections can bring the whole thing to a grinding halt. I sure would hate to destroy this ship and some 80 people on account of a stray crumb. We can have water and acorn coffee and purple sweet potatoes here, but nothing that produces small particles. So pie eating and - god forbid - pie making: no can do.

_You can't call home._

Yep, sorry, Mom. The communication stones are on the other side of the ship in the little dungeon where Riley used to hang out. Oh, I miss Riley so much… We'd often go visit Earth together and one time we even went go-kart racing. That was so awesome. When I was with Riley, it was like being a kid again… And because the comm stones are such a distraction they keep them far away from here. Besides, what if what happened to Lt James happened again? She got accidentally taken over by an alien who also used the stones, and she blew out an FTL drive engine section. Well, not her, of course – the alien, but if someone else gets hijacked like that we want them to be as far away from the Bridge as possible. I guess that makes sense. So, ET, no calling home. You got no bars.

_You can't fall asleep._

I found out about that one the hard way. Now, you have to understand that I can fall asleep anytime, anywhere, and I can sleep through a bulldozer race in the backyard. Poor Colonel Young wishes he had my ability to nap – he's the classic insomniac, like I said. The man just worries too much. Anyway, the last time I was on watch here by myself I made myself comfy in the command chair (after I had played Captain Kirk for a while, of course), slung my legs over the control panel and nodded off. WAAAAAAAH goes a siren and I nearly crap my pants. And I check everything and there's nothing wrong at all, so I doze off again. ZZZZZZAPPP goes an electric shock straight to my tush. Again, nothing wrong. And the third time the chair tilted and I got dumped on the floor, and that really hurt. It seems that Destiny has a snooze-alert function to ensure that any operators are awake at all times. It makes sense: why go through all the trouble of letting an organic creature tell you what to do when they incapacitate themselves with sweet dreams? Pass the no-doze, please.

_You can't hold meetings._

There are no extra chairs on this deck. Every chair is mounted near a work station, and as soon as you sit in it the associated work station assumes you're actually going to, well, WORK. So it, too, will zap, prod and wail at you if you just park there. Mind you, stand-up meetings tend to go much faster than sit-down meetings, which is always a plus, but Destiny demands attention and doesn't like to share. So, while we have quick war council type gatherings here we usually hold meetings in the Mess hall. At least there's room to sit for everyone, and the benches don't electrocute you when your focus wanders. And besides, who wants some uninitiated crew member pushing random buttons around here and accidentally flush us all into space? Meeting adjourned!

_You can't have sex._

Well, actually, you can. Technically speaking. Everyone who's ever tried said that Destiny seems to have no objections to nookie anywhere on the Bridge. But come on: there are so many people that could walk in at any moment. Usually the hatch stays wide open anyway so passers-by can always take a peek, and when we do close it there's still a chance someone activates the intercom from a control interface room or even their radio, and you sure don't want your moans and groans broadcast over the whole ship. So you need to keep your schlong safely tucked away. And while Colonel Young has a seriously high tolerance threshold for sexual activity (hey, he's only human, too, and of course he doesn't want to miss out), there are some things you just don't do. That whole respect issue, you know? _R-e-s-p-e-c-t, find out what it means to m–_

And what do you know, there he is, at the end of the hall. Looks like he's bringing me a cup of water and a snack (he usually does). What could it be? What could it be? Maybe a… dare I say it? – a purple sweet potato? Oh goodie.

Well, it's the thought that counts. _End of log entry._

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